


A Wrong Turn

by lalakate



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 17:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: A storm and dangerous driving conditions lead to an unexpected encounter.





	A Wrong Turn

She feels her car skid on the already treacherous road, tossing her phone down onto the seat beside her in a panic as she rights her course and pulls over.

Shit. She doesn't need this right now.

_Mary! Are you alright?_

Sybil's voice cries out from her discarded phone, and she grabs it up, putting the car in park as she fights simultaneous urges to bang her head into the steering wheel and be sick.

"I'm fine," Mary answers, her voice too shaky to be believable. "A tire just blew, that's all."

_That's all?! Do you have a spare and a jack with you? God, I'm so worried about you, Mary. You shouldn't be on that road all alone in this weather._

"I'm almost to the chalet," she responds, clicking on the radio to hear if there is any additional news concerning the storm. "I can get out and walk the rest of the way if I have to."

_You are not trudging up that mountain in torrential rain carrying a suitcase. No way, Mary. It's too dark and dangerous._

She sighs into her windshield, knowing her sister is right, gritting her teeth to fight back a scream.

"No," Mary sighs wearily. "I'm not. But I will call 911 if you'll let me off the line with you."

_Do it. And call me back as soon as you can. Edith and I will try to meet up with you tomorrow after the storm passes and the roads clear. Be careful, Mary. I mean it._

"Good-bye, Sybil," Mary returns, ending one call before attempting to make another. How she wishes she had listened to Edith's warnings and stopped at the hotel she suggested rather than trudging ahead, needing to prove a point she can't even remember at the moment.

"Sometimes you're an idiot, Mary Crawley," she says to herself, the truth of her self-admonition biting into an older wound still tender.

It is then she hears it coming over the bandwidth, the access bridge is out, flooded, impassible, which means emergency vehicles will not be able to reach her and change her tire. Her hands begin to tremble uncontrollably, and she inhales through quivering lungs. What the hell is she supposed to do now? Spend the night in her car on the side of a mountain road?

She opens her door and steps into the rain, moving towards the back, praying perhaps there is a jack hiding somewhere. Then headlights are moving towards her, and she feels a simultaneous jerk of relief and panic. Her fingers feel for the pepper spray tucked away in her jacket pocket, working around the metal surface as she watches the other driver pull over and emerge.

It's definitely a man. She holds her breath and swallows.

"Do you need some help?"

"Charles?"

"Mary?"

The shock of his voice sends waves of calm and regret down her limbs, and she nearly weeps with relief as he rushes to her.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

His hands are gripping her arms, holding her a bit harder than necessary, and she clasps his coat in return, trying unsuccessfully to pull back hot tears.

"I was meeting Sybil and Edith, and…"

She breaks off, gulping in air as she pushes dripping locks from her face. "But my tire…"

She is shaking all over now, and he pulls her to his chest, cursing under his breath as a familiar hand encases the back of her head.

"Thank God I needed milk," he breathes into her ear, making her laugh almost maniacally as she holds him even tighter. "God, the thought of you trapped out here…"

Then there is an inhuman crack and a groan, and they both watch in horror as a large tree falls with a sickening crash across the road just in front of them.

"Christ," he mumbles, pushing her towards his car with urgency. "Come on. My cabin is just down this road. We need to get out of here."

She doesn't protest as he maneuvers her inside his car, and she buckles her seatbelt as he performs a rather daring U-turn, taking them down the side road from which he has just emerged.

"There are cabins out here?" she questions, seeing nothing but black nothingness in the space before her.

"Yes," he assures her gently. "But they're rather isolated."

Just then he pulls down a small path she would have missed, and she grips her seat in fear, certain they are about to plunge over the side of the mountain to their deaths.

"Here we are," he observes unnecessarily as she takes in the form of a small but tidy cabin directly in front of her. "I started a fire a while ago. Let's get inside and get you warm."

She doesn't argue and races behind him to the small porch, huddling closer than she should as he unlocks the door and urges her inside. Her skin sighs into the warmth as they enter, the comforting smell of wood smoke wrapping up both muscle and bone.

"Give me your jacket," he instructs, already pulling the dripping garment from her shoulders and hanging over the shower rod in a tiny bathroom just to their right. "I'll see if I have an extra pair of sweats."

He moves to his suitcase sitting haphazardly in the corner, and she takes in the charming space in front of her, the reality of their situation just starting to sink in.

The cabin has clearly been designed for two, a cozy kitchen moving into a small but pleasant great room with a rustic four poster king-sized bed, a fireplace with two rocking chairs before it, and a tub large enough to share facing a small television.

"No cable, I'm afraid," he apologizes. "But they do provide DVD's."

She hardly hears him, too physically aware of the fact that they are trapped and utterly alone.

"Are you expecting Freda?"

The question escapes her unconsciously, and he stands to face her, holding out a sweatshirt of his as an offering.

"No," he answers, taking a step in her direction. "We aren't together anymore."

"I'm sorry," she breathes, feeling her rib cage quiver at his revelation.

"I know," he mutters automatically before his eyes dart back to hers. "Wait—you are?"

"No," she slips before catching herself. "I mean, yes. Of course I am. Aren't you?"

They stare silently at each other in the firelight.

"No," he admits, his voice a rough whisper that ripples down her legs. "We were doomed from the start."

She accepts the shirt from his hands, all too aware of him wet and single in front of her.

"I didn't realize," she breathes, his scent hitting her soundly from the soft fibers of his garment. "What happened?"

She watches him swallow, sensing an unease between them she wishes could be erased.

"She wasn't you."

The ground trembles beneath her as thunder rocks the cabin floor.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking damp locks. "I shouldn't have said that. It was unfair of..."

"I'm not with Tony anymore."

Her declaration draws him up short, and they stare into each other again, immobile, dripping onto hard wood.

"You're not?" he breathes.

"No. Not for a while, actually."

"I didn't realize."

"How could you have?"

"I…I just wish I had known."

"Why? What would it have changed?"

Her question hangs between them as he steps into her space.

"Everything," he whispers, caressing wet skin, making her shiver. "I would have come after you, Mary. I wouldn't make the same mistake twice."

Her heart comes dangerously close to pounding out of her head.

"I'm here now," she dares, drawn to him with the same force she'd been attempting to deny since they met.

"Thank God," he breathes, crossing the space between them in an instant, crushing her mouth to his own, the sweatshirt falling into a forgotten heap on the floor.

Heat sears down every limb, and she pulls him even closer, her leg wrapping instinctively around his thigh as his tongue plunders hers incessantly. She is combusting at a rapid rate, breath halting, fingers searching, need for this man pushing her forward into territory she is eager to explore.

Hands are restless, tugging at wet clothes, rubbing damp flesh, reveling in the warmth of the fire and the texture of a broken in quilt. Lips remain busy as his progress down her neck, to her ear, past her shoulders until they hover just between her breasts.

"God," he whispers, stroking her nipple, making her bite her lip.

"Please," she cries in response, rubbing against him without inhibition, seeking what they have denied themselves for too long.

Then she's lost as his tongue makes contact, alerting every nerve ending she possesses, making her arch into him in raw need.

"I don't think I can wait very long," he pants, the coarseness of his tone making her pulse.

"I think we've waited long enough," she breathes into the crux of his neck, feeling him shudder as his they find each other anew and conversation stops.


End file.
